


The Demon In Our Genes

by VivaRocksteady



Series: Jake's search for his siblings [3]
Category: Brooklyn Nine-Nine (TV), Mindhunter (TV 2017)
Genre: Dysfunctional Family, Father-Son Relationship, Fatherhood, Gen, Implied/Referenced Homophobia, Long Lost/Secret Relatives, spoilers for B99 through S7E10, weekly reminder that holden ford is a baby boomer
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2020-04-04
Updated: 2020-04-04
Packaged: 2021-02-28 20:01:27
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 2
Words: 4,199
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/23472904
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/VivaRocksteady/pseuds/VivaRocksteady
Summary: Unexpectedly, Jake learns about a long-lost uncle.Or, NBC finally gives me a way to make Holden Ford a long-lost Peralta.
Relationships: Jake Peralta & Roger Peralta
Series: Jake's search for his siblings [3]
Series URL: https://archiveofourown.org/series/1000104
Comments: 21
Kudos: 75





	1. Chapter 1

**Author's Note:**

> If you're following me for my foster kid Holden fic, sorry for the fakeout! I have been fuzzy brained for weeks and finally started writing something in a burst of inspiration. So hopefully the gates are opened again and I can return to mini-Holden soon.

Like many of the men profiled in this book, I don’t entirely remember when my fascination with murder started. It was simply always there. 

I know when it solidified— around the age of fifteen, during one of my infrequent visits with my father. I was born out of wedlock, and barely knew my father, who was a Navy officer. He would show up without notice, stay long enough to take me to dinner or buy me a new suit or pair of shoes, and then leave again, often providing no way to stay in touch. 

When I was fifteen, I travelled by train to New York City, my place of birth, to visit with my father and meet a hitherto unknown half-brother. Instead of a family visit, my father asked me to babysit my younger brother for three days while he “took care of some business.”

In the short time we actually spent together on that trip, I confronted my father, angry and sullen about his absence. He explained to me how he felt he was doomed to fail at his fatherly duties. “There is a demon in our genes,” he said, “that means fathers and sons don’t get along.” The way he told it, the curse was in our blood, and you can’t escape what’s in your blood. 

He claims his father abandoned him at the 1939 New York World’s Fair. My grandfather in turn was abandoned by his father, an itinerant gambler. That gambler, my great-grandfather, fled to America after drowning _his_ father in a well.

This is where the story ended, details lost to generations of fuzzy memories and resentment. Whatever complaints my great-great-grandfather held towards his own (almost certainly) mediocre father, they died in that well with him. 

But the story stuck with me, long after my father and I drifted inevitably apart. What could have possibly led my great-grandfather, then an illiterate teenager in Congress Poland, to do such a thing? What makes the difference between an embittered son who one day simply turns away from his father, and a patricidal murderer? Why that day? Why that well?

It was this fascination with the _why_ that led me to a career in law enforcement, though I didn’t set out to solve crimes. While undercover to investigate drug deals or bank robberies, my driving question was not necessarily what or who or how, but _why?_ Why this crime? Why this way? I am told that I annoyed my colleagues no end with my questions, and my conversant tone with apprehended criminals. Soon enough I was directed into hostage negotiation— the direct conversations I had with criminals in the midst of the crimes they committed almost satisfied my need to understand.

But it wasn’t enough. The why of murder still pulled at me. Was it really as my father had said, that there was a “demon in our genes?” Or could there be somewhere, deep down, a key to understanding, and thus preventing, the most senseless of all crimes: murder? 

When I met Special Agent Bill Tench (from whom, I assure you, I learned absolutely everything I know) I finally found home. Bill was the visionary behind the FBI’s Behavioural Science Unit (later the Behavioural Analysis Unit,) where I spent the rest of my FBI career. Bill and I spent years together interviewing the most high-profile— and some fairly low-profile— murderers in the country. Our research unearthed a treasure trove of knowledge, giving us tools that have since been applied to solve countless murders. 

But it seemed the more I learned, the more I realized I didn’t know. A definitive answer to “why?” will always be elusive. 

My father may have claimed that his genes were responsible for his behaviour, and I’ve often thought about the stain of murder that seems indelibly stuck to me. But if we all went back far enough in our respective family trees, we’d likely all find the same demon in our genes. 

I don’t believe there is such thing as an inherently bad seed. I hope my research continues to build the knowledge base of traumas, triggers, and stressors that truly shape violent criminals into who they are, regardless of what’s in their blood. 

\- Holden Ford, preface to _The Profile: Inside the Minds of the Nation’s Worst Killers._  
First Edition, 1995  
Second Edition, 2007


	2. Chapter 2

_I am an amazing detective/genius and I CAN fix this!_ Jake thought furiously to himself. He had gotten Mr. Santiago to tolerate Roger Peralta, he had gotten _himself_ to tolerate Roger Peralta, surely getting Roger Peralta's own father on board wouldn't be that hard?

He shouldn't have put it past his dad, though. While two old men sat there bickering on his couch, Jake realized his mistake. Of course _Jake_ always remembered his grandfather as happy and sweet and handing out candies or $5 bills like gangbusters-- he was his grandfather, and Jake was a _kid_. How was it only now occurring to him that he'd spent marginally less time with his grandpa growing up than he had with his father? To whit— almost no time at all? 

So now there were three generations of Peralta men under one roof— an admiral, a captain, and a detective— and two of them would Not. Stop. Squabbling. And they only had hours until the sex reveal party for Jake’s baby, and everyone would see them all not getting along, and why on earth did Jake ever think this was a good idea?

Oh yeah, Roger’s ominous premonition. The _demon_ in their _genes_. And not even a cool (if tragic) demon like Bruce and Brandon Lee had. Just a dumb, crappy-dad one. A demon that would no doubt ruin Jake’s relationship with his son, if a son was what he was about to have. 

He wouldn’t go down without a fight. He would fix his dad’s relationship with his (his dad’s) dad, and get them to realize how they could’ve been better, and everything was going to be _fine!_

Jake tried to start a new discussion about the part in _Cry Hard With a Vengeance_ wherein Bruce Willis advises about introducing your child to other children. The Admiral nodded and said "makes sense,” prompting Roger to snort loudly. 

"Oh yeah, right," he scoffed. "This from a man who didn't even want to introduce me to my own brother."

Jake's heart sank. "Okay. What?"

Roger made an accusatory gesture towards his dad. “He says I was the floozy, but I have an older half-brother, and I only met him, like, twice!”

Sometimes Roger would say things that made Jake so angry, he had learned to just Be One with the anger and let it pass. He stared at Roger, biting his tongue until it started to hurt, and let the anger subsume him entirely, until it passed through him like Slimer through a wall. And like Slimer through a wall, it left behind something gross and oozing. (Ghostbusters is so cool.) 

"You're complaining," Jake said slowly, "that he never told you about half-siblings? When you did the exact same thing to me?"

"I told you, I learned it from him.” 

"You never cared about Holden," the Admiral scoffed. "He came all the way to New York to meet you and you just acted like a brat.” 

"I was nine,” said Roger, looking at Jake like Jake was going to be sympathetic or something. “Mom was out of town because her mother was _dying._ Suddenly this teenager shows up out of nowhere, and Dad dumps me on him to babysit while he went off to who knows where. He was gone for three days.” 

The Admiral made a dismissive gesture. “You had fun.” 

"We did not," said Roger. "Holden was _weird._ ”

“Well if you didn’t like him, why are you complaining?”

“Because maybe I would have liked him if I had gotten to know him better, but you kept us apart!”

“Kept you apart! You never asked to see him. You didn’t care. You were always so selfish.” The Admiral shook his head. “Ah, hell. Jake, I need to use the head.” 

At this point, Jake was holding his head in his hands. It was looking more and more like Roger _wasn't_ just copping out with that demon in the genes bullshit. This was a pattern that repeated and repeated and repeated. 

But you'd think at some point he'd decide _not_ to act that way? When does a fully grown adult just decide to lean into all their worst impulses? Okay, fair, Jake leaned into all his worst impulses basically every day, particularly as they pertained to snack products. Or downloadable content. Or sneakers. Or talking. Or making promises. And if it wasn't for Amy, he'd probably be bankrupt. And he may not have always followed proper safety protocol at work. Or ever. 

He was doomed as a father, wasn't he?

"Listen, Jake," Roger said. "We don't have to do this. You should have your party in peace without Admiral Crapdad around, and you've still got a 50/50 chance of having a girl. I'm sure it's all going to be fine." 

Jake bit back a spiteful sputter. "You don't even know your daughters! You met Kate, like, six times total!" 

"Yeah, but… I stayed for you."

"You call _leaving when I was eleven_ staying??" Jake was starting to panic. He felt like crying, but he'd rather shoot himself in the face than cry in front of Roger Peralta. And he'd cried in front of _Charles._ Freely!

“That’s not what I mean. Listen, Jake," Roger tried. "Being a dad is hard. But to be honest, I don't even think it's that important."

Jake glowered. 

"I mean, look at you," Roger went on. "You turned out great. And that wasn't because of me. That was all your mom. She was the best decision I ever made. If I had been around more, I would’ve just hurt you more.” 

Something tightened in Jake’s chest. “Are you telling me that the best thing I could do for a son is leave Amy?” 

“No, I just… sometimes an absent dad is better than a bad dad. Moms are more important. And Amy’s gonna be a great mom.” 

Jake scowled at the floor. “That’s not good enough for me,” he said, very softly. 

“Listen. You ever read about, like, serial killers?"

"I'm a detective, Dad. So obviously, yes.” Jake crossed his arms, not thinking about the fact that the three most recent books he read were about martial arts, and they weren't so much books as they were seasons of television, and they weren't so much about martial arts as they were about Ninja Turtles.

“Well, they did a study about serial killers, and they learned that it was more often the relationship with the mom that screwed people over. I mean, a bad dad makes you— well, this.” Roger gestured at himself. “But as long as you got a good mom, you’re golden.” 

Jake stared at his father. He didn’t know which thread to pull first. There was _Shirking responsibility with insane excuses, classic Dad!_ There was _Next you’ll tell me it’s your divine imperative to spread your seed, like Peter Quill’s dad, and I’ll finally Peter Quill out and punch you._

The thread he went with was: 

“How do you know that? You’ve never been interested in stuff like that. You didn’t even come to my police academy graduation.”

“I told you, Jake, there was a storm in Des Moines, so the flight was grounded—”

“Yeah, yeah,” said Jake, knowing full well that Roger had in fact been _grounded_ by a Des Moines barmaid. “So what, do you have a sidepiece who’s really into true crime? Because I know this isn’t Mom’s jam, either.”

“I’m not cheating on your mom,” Roger said gently. “I promise. I haven’t even looked at another woman since she took me back. I read it on Holden’s Facebook page.” 

Jake was taken aback. “You guys are Facebook friends?” Then he realized, of course, Facebook is the only website Baby Boomers know how to use, and they’ve gotten frighteningly good at it. 

“Yeah,” said Roger. “A few years now.” 

“But you said you only met him twice.” 

“I did only meet him twice. We haven’t spoken in real life. But man, it’s like the Facebook page is _psychic_. It _suggested_ him to me. How did it know?” 

“It uses very fancy algorithms that you wouldn’t understand, Dad,” said Jake. “Also, I don’t know. How come you never told me?” 

“Told you what?” 

“That you had reconnected with a long-lost half-brother,” said Jake. “Because, you know that I’ve been trying to connect with my _army_ of half-siblings.” 

“Oh yeah,” Roger said thoughtfully. He curled his lip in a look of skepticism. “Is that going okay?”

Jake clenched his fists. “I think it would have been easier to understand,” he said carefully, after letting his anger Slimer through him, “if you had told me that you also had a half-brother that your dad didn’t tell you about.” 

Roger shrugged. “I guess I thought you wouldn’t care. I mean, to you he’s only an uncle. And he was a weirdo. Although…” he tilted his head. “I guess he did used to be an FBI agent. You might’ve liked that?”

Jake started. “What?”

Roger blinked back. “What?” 

“Your brother was an FBI agent,” Jake said, straightening up.

“Oh, yeah,” said Roger. “That’s why he’s always posting stuff like that on his Facebook page. He’s always writing little articles or being interviewed on podcasts.”

“What podcasts?” 

“I don’t know,” said Roger. “Jake, I mostly just use Facebook to meet women. _Used!_ Not anymore. I promise.” Roger snuck some candy out of the bowl on the coffee table. 

Jake slapped his hand. 

“Ow! What the hell!” Roger cried.

“That’s for the party!”

“Okay, _Amy_ ,” said Roger.

“Well what— what did he do? What kind of FBI agent was he?” Jake started pacing around, agitated. 

“Uh, I mean I don’t know the details. But he did that study about the serial killers. Wrote a book about it, I think.” 

Jake stopped pacing.

“You know, back in the ’70s they didn’t really know anything about serial killers. Or STDs. Or how bad cocaine was.” Roger snuck the candy successfully this time, and unwrapped it. “You could get away with a-ny-thing.” 

“Hold on,” said Jake. 

“Hmm?” Roger put the candy in his mouth. 

Jake went to the bookshelf. Amy had already organized everything so the books were arranged by height in order of appropriateness for children, leaving the lower shelves bare and all the policing stuff on the very top. Jake tugged down his second-hand copy of _The Profile_ , acquired some years ago, after having exhausted, chin in hands, Captain Holt’s stories about the Disco Strangler.

He marched back over and shoved the book in Roger’s face. “Is this his book?”

Roger now had four candies in his mouth. “Oh yeah!” He said around them, slurping loudly. “That’s him. Holden Ford.” 

Jake flipped through the book, scanned over all the passages he (or more likely, the previous owner) had highlighted or underlined. “He talked about this. The thing you said, about the demon in our genes. He talked about—“ He flipped to the introduction. “His great-grandfather, drowned his own father in a well.”

“Yup,” said Roger. “We’re haunted, Jake. You can’t escape blood. I think Holden turned out better than me. And you know why? Because Dad didn’t raise him.”

Jake’s grip on the book tightened.

“Although I don’t remember if he was married to Holden’s mom. Hey, Dad.” 

The Admiral grunted as he shuffled back over to the couch. 

“Did you ever marry Holden’s mom? Or were you just engaged?”

“Oh, let’s not,” said the Admiral. “Let’s not talk about that. Can’t we just go back to the movie man’s baby book?” 

“No,” said Roger. “Jake wants us to get along, so we’re gonna get it all out in the open. Air out the wound.” 

“Psychobabble hogwash,” the Admiral spat.

“Grandpa,” said Jake. “I would really, really like to hear more about Holden.” 

The Admiral sighed. “Sheila and I were young. I got her pregnant, and you had to do the right thing and get engaged. It was different then. They didn’t make quality condoms like they do now.”

Jake recoiled. Roger nodded knowingly.

“I wasn’t a runaround floozy like Roger. Sheila was my high school sweetheart. But I was only nineteen. And I was going into the Navy. And she didn’t want me to go. She was afraid there was going to be another war. She wanted me to quit the Navy and get an office job. I just… I couldn’t do it. I wasn’t ready.” He looked genuinely remorseful— if only a little— but then he shook his head. “It all turned out fine. Sheila was smart as a whip. Holden turned out just fine, too. He’s also a police officer, you know.”

“He was in the _FBI_ ,” Roger said, eyeing his father angrily. “And he wrote a book.” 

“Guys, he wrote, like, _six_ books,” Jake said, exasperated. “He basically invented the field of psychological profiling. They made movies about him!”

“Well, would you look at that,” said the Admiral, peering over his glasses at the cover of the book.

Roger looked skeptical. “I don’t remember any movies about Holden.”

“They changed the names, obviously. They— they were inspired by his _work_.” Jake sighed, flipping through the book again. “I want my work to inspire a genre of fiction sooo baaaad.” 

The Admiral straightened up, looking proud and mean. “See, Holden turned out just fine. Though I really wanted one of you to join the armed forces.” 

“I told you,” said Roger. “The Air Force wouldn’t take me because I get vertigo.”

“You’re an airline pilot!” Jake said, baffled.

“Yeah, yeah, the vertigo,” the Admiral scoffed. “Christ. Maybe I _should’ve_ stayed with Sheila, given how I ended up saddled with _you_ instead.”

Roger seethed. “They make movies about hero airline captains, too. I can’t think of any right now, but they do.” 

“Sully starring Tom Hanks,” said the Admiral. 

Roger all but had a seizure. “For the last time, any idiot can land a plane! It’s half the job!”

“Guys,” Jake tried.

“Give me that book, Jake,” said the Admiral. “I want to learn more about my _well-accomplished_ son.” 

“Yeah, study up. You didn’t even know he was FBI. How could you know so little about your own son?” Roger sneered. “Even when Jake wasn’t speaking to me, I still talked to his mom and knew what he was up to.” 

“Holden was never interested in having a relationship with me, and neither was his mother,” the Admiral said, shaking his head minutely, like he couldn’t fathom at all why that would be. “I think the better question is how _you_ know so much, since you claim I kept you apart.” 

“We’re Facebook friends,” said Roger. “We’re FaceFriends!” 

“What the hell does that mean?” asked the Admiral.

“It means,” Roger spat, “that even for the five minutes you’ve sat here pretending that Holden was your favourite all along, and that you’re sooo proud of him, I’m the one who actually has a relationship with him.”

“You’re Facebook friends,” Jake said gently. “That’s not really a relationship.” 

“It means I still know more about Dad’s son than Dad does.”

“Like what?” the Admiral challenged. 

“Holden’s gay,” Roger said, matter-of-factly.

“ _Oh,_ ” said the Admiral, leaning back slightly. 

“Go Uncle Holden,” said Jake. 

“He said he’s gay on the Facebook?” The Admiral was frowning, but Jake wasn’t sure if it was the gay stuff, or that he didn’t know how Facebook worked. 

“He said his husband died,” said Roger, glaring. “Why does it matter? Why do _you_ care?” 

“Because he’s my son,” the Admiral shot back.

“You haven’t spoken to him in decades!” 

“He’s still my son.”

“Wait,” said Jake. “You’re okay with Great Uncle Dean being gay, but not your own son?”

“The son you never see,” Roger added. 

“It’s different when it’s your kid,” said the Admiral. “You’ll see, Jake. When your baby is born.”

“Ummmmm,” said Jake. “I’m pretty sure I wouldn’t care.” 

“You just say that because your generation thinks everything is okay,” said the Admiral. “And I want to say something to you about that. I smelled some reefer on my way over here. You gotta clamp down on this, Jakey. The cops have gotten too soft. There’s a war on drugs, and you have to treat it like one.” 

“Oh my god,” Jake muttered. 

“Pot is legal in New York now, Dad,” Roger proclaimed, smugly.

“Dad, no it isn’t,” said Jake. 

“Oh,” said Roger. 

“When you have a child, you have an expectation,” said the Admiral. “And _nothing_ can ever live up to that expectation. That’s the demon. That’s why Peralta fathers and sons hate each other. Because we can’t stop disappointing each other.”

Jake’s insides crumpled up.

“I was never disappointed in Jake,” Roger said, softly.

Jake didn’t even have a response for that. He just crossed his arms and stared at the floor. 

“I never was,” Roger said, even softer.

“Well, Dad,” Jake sighed. “It’s kind of hard to believe that when you avoided me the better part of my life.”

“I was just doing what I knew how to do,” said Roger. “If I treated you like you were a disappointment, it was because that’s how my dad treated me.” 

“Of course you were a disappointment,” the Admiral sniped. “And you might think you’re better now because _your_ son talks to you, but you’re not. You’re not. You’re not better than me. You only ever did one thing right in your life, and that was doing a good job with Jake.”

“I didn’t do a good job with Jake!!!” Roger shouted. “I did exactly the same shitty job _you_ did!”

“Guys, can you just— can you please—”

“This is what the demon does,” said the Admiral. “I’ve tried and tried. And I know you’re trying, Jakey. But you can’t escape what’s in your blood.”

“Grandpa—” 

“He’s right,” said Roger, glaring hatefully

“Ah, hell,” said the Admiral. “I need to use the head again.” 

After the old man went off to the bathroom, Roger paced around, furious and muttering. Jake just watched him for a while.

“Dad,” Jake said gently, after a long pause. “Okay. I get it. The demon. We don’t have to do this. We’ll just forget it.”

“No, Jake,” said Roger. “I can’t wait until he’s dead. I have to say this all now. It won’t fix anything, but I need to say it.” 

Jake once again felt his heart sinking when the Admiral came shuffling out of the bathroom. Roger rounded on him before he even sat back down. 

“You know what, Dad? I might not be better than you, but Holden was. And Jake is better than me. And I’m gonna tell him I’m proud of him, not that I know what it sounds like!” 

As the Admiral scowled, Roger turned to Jake with a flourish. “Jake, you’re a great kid, and a great detective, and I’m super proud of you.” 

Jake bit his lip, which threatened to wobble. 

“And I mean it. You’re better than me. You’re better than both of us. If anyone is going to break the curse, it’s you.”

Jake hung his head. 

“You can’t break the curse,” mumbled the Admiral.

“You’re going to put in an effort. You’re going to put in the time. And you’re not going to act weird if your kid turns out gay.” Roger slung an arm around Jake’s shoulders and pointed a finger at the Admiral. “Jake didn’t even call it a gender reveal cake. He said _sex reveal_ cake, because he’s awoken!” 

“What?” blinked the Admiral. 

“Though I still think a sex reveal cake is _not_ something you want to have with your dad,” Roger muttered. 

“Gross,” Jake whined.

“I don’t understand this cake,” said the Admiral. “We keep going back to this damn cake! What is it?” 

“Yeah me too, to be honest,” said Roger, sitting beside his dad like nothing had happened. “Is it like those cakes that have butts on them?” 

So then Jake had to explain how the sex reveal cake worked to them both, for like, the _fourth time_. 

It went on and on like that all afternoon. 

Roger and the Admiral did not fix their relationship, the cake got ruined, Jake almost had a psychotic break when he found out he was having a son, and Roger cut off his other thumb. 

For a Peralta family reunion, it wasn’t actually that bad. 

Then after, when Roger was in the hospital and the Admiral had left for good, Roger told Jake that there was no curse. There were only poor choices, and Jake didn’t have to make them. It meant more than Jake could say that Roger could change for the better, even just a little. 

Later that week, Jake got out _The Profile_ and read the preface again, thinking to himself: _He’s a genius, and he’s a Peralta. Not that it matters, but there’s brilliance in our genes._


End file.
